I’m halfway over the bridge when flashes of light and fire break through the boughs of the thick branches, singeing the dry leaves and pine needles. The hanging walkway sways violently, nearly tossing me over the ropes. I hold on, struggling to get to a platform. When I reach the other side, another explosion rocks the village. Screams ring through the trees in every direction, bringing back memories of the night London was invaded a year and a half ago. The familiar whistle of plummeting bombs, the heat of the fires roaring, and the smell of burning bodies make me double over, vomiting at the recollection of day one when this war began. Surrounded by chaos, my ears are assaulted with the sound of loss, destruction, and madness. The echo of death.
A ball of fire breaks through the branches and hits an unoccupied hut, sending it into a bonfire of flames.
Hunter bursts from the armory building. He takes in the inferno before him, seeming dismayed. He calls out orders, but they are lost beyond the barrage of flames that has set our village ablaze. Heat burns my cheek as a firebomb grazes me, hitting the tightly tied knots of the rope bridge. The fibers burn too quickly, cutting most from escape ladders.
“Lily!” I scream, panic rising within me. I shout for her again, but through the fire and smoke, our hut is invisible.
Hunter grips my arms. “Get the antidote and take cover. Now!” he commands.
Panting, I return my gaze to where I left Lily sleeping safely.
“Did you hear me?” Hunter yells, giving me a hard shake.
“What about you and the others?” I ask.
Hunter shakes his head. “That’s for me to worry about. That antidote cannot be destroyed! Without the poison apple, it can’t be duplicated.”
Quickly, I nod my head. With one last look at my hut, I grit my teeth, only wanting one thing—to save Lily. Instead, I race toward the makeshift laboratory where I’ve worked the last three months.
The rope bridge to my workshop is severely damaged. Holes riddle the wooden plank, and only one of the scorched fiber anchors remains attached. It doesn’t look secure, but there is no way to the other side. Carefully, I grip the handholds and step out onto the rickety bridge. The bridge shakes with each movement I make. The planks groan beneath my boots.
Another whistle of a fire cannon piques my attention. Tilting my gaze up, my skin turns to ice as the blazing ammunition hurtles toward me. With no other choice, I throw myself to the floor. The cannon crashes into the bridge posts behind me, immediately snapping what’s left of the anchors. As the walkway falls, I hang on tightly, waiting to plummet to the forest floor.
Instead, I hit against the tree hard, nearly losing my grip. It takes a few seconds for the pain to dissipate. I peer up; the platform is only two meters away. I climb, using the wooden planks as rungs of a ladder. One breaks beneath my weight, but the others hold true.
When I reach the platform, the sight before me robs my lungs of all air. A creature, half primate and half machine, looms over me. And next to it is Katt.
“It’s your lucky day,” she announces. “While most of the others are useless to me, you are valuable.”
“Don’t do this,” I beg.
Katt tilts her head back and laughs. “Don’t do what? Let you run off with the rest of the Lost Kids? I already made that mistake. What I should have done is taken you captive and offered you and the Professor’s notes to the Bloodred Queen. That’s one mistake I won’t repeat.”
My stare darts between Katt and my lab as I wonder if I can sprint past her and the beast to get to the antidote.
I dash forward just as she shouts, “Burn it down!”
The creature turns, and with a single shot from the cannons perched on its shoulders, it sets my workshop on fire.
“No!” I cry out too late. Falling to my knees, I watch our only hope of survival as the human race goes up in flames.
Katt sidles up next to me. “Time to go. You’ve got an antidote to make.”
Bolting to my feet, fueled by fury, I tower over her. “Do you know what you’ve just done? You’ve destroyed the very antidote you want me to make.”
“You lie,” she hisses, but I can hear the uncertainty in her voice.
“No. The cure was in my lab. How do you think we managed not to look like you?” I stay near where the bridge once stood, even as the fire eats its way close to us. “I had the antidote that could’ve cured you.”
Katt lets out a bloodcurdling scream. Then, seeming to get ahold of herself, she says, “You made it once. You can make it again.”
I stare helplessly at the inferno devouring my lab. My notes, my materials—gone. Months of work.
“Take him to the castle,” she demands.
The machine behind flaps its wings, rising in the air above me before digging its claws into my arms.
“Back to Lohr!” Katt shouts. She throws herself onto the riding saddle of another beast. Carrying me through the smoke and flames, the machine leaves behind Evergreen and its residents in a fury of fire.
A snuffle startles me awake. Two button-like eyes stare at me as the piglet chews on the last of the food I’ve brought: a piece of fruit, a handful of berries and nuts, and a few pieces of deer jerky. The pear is brown and bruised, probably from being tossed about in my rucksack when I ran from the Bandersnatches.
“You little thief,” I say, tugging my bag to my chest. The piglet oinks in disapproval and continues to gnaw the inedible fruit.
“You’re lucky I didn’t want it anyway,” I say. Sitting up, I stretch to work the kinks out in my body. My neck and back are sore from lying on the hard ground.
Sunshine bathes the cave entrance in a golden glow. Grabbing my bag and bow, I start to crawl through the narrow passage. Halfway through, I look over my shoulder.
“Well, are you coming?” I ask, noticing the piglet hasn’t moved.
It sniffs the air before dashing past me and through the opening.
“Wait! Slow down!” I shout.
I give chase, dreading the shame of returning home empty-handed. I peek out of the cavern, but the piglet is gone. The woodlands are eerily still. Even the birds seem to have gone quiet. The hush is disconcerting, making the hair on my arms stand up. A gray haze hovers beneath the boughs of the trees. The smell of burning wood catches my nose. Here in the forest, smoke like this means one thing.
Unable to breathe, I break into a sprint. Sharp branches sting my face and arms as I race past them. Drawing closer to home, the smoke grows thicker. My eyes water and my lungs seize. I pull my tunic over my mouth and nose. Although I can’t see the flames, I feel the heat.
When I finally make my way to the village entrance, the Guard are not at their posts. Instead, the trees anchoring my village are ablaze like enormous torches in the early morning sky. I stumble through embers and smoke, searching for any survivors. Bodies litter the forest floor. Most are so charred or disfigured that they are no longer recognizable. Only their garments give a clue of who they are … or were. Bile burns my throat.
Among the bodies are the remains of horrifying creatures. Part monkey and part machine, they lie unmoving. Numerous arrows and bullet wounds riddle their carcasses. There is no doubt in my mind that these beasts are creations of the Bloodred Queen.
The smell of burnt flesh hangs heavy in the air. Blood oozes down the trunks like thick molasses from the village platforms above. I can only imagine how many of my community took their last breaths among the tree branches.
Piles of twisted metal from the destroyed hovercycles smolder from the assault they have taken.
“Ma! Pa!” I shout over the crackle of fire. “Where are you?” I cough, choking on the foul air.
The roar of the firestorm devours my voice. Shielding my eyes from the sting of smoke, I make my way through the destruction, dodging the remains of charred corpses and scattered machine parts. A crack rises above the devastation. Turning my gaze up, an icy bite speeds through my bones. I throw myself down to the ground, out of the path of a fiery tree li
mb as it crashes.
Flames surround me, engulfing anything that will burn. With the smoke growing heavier, I turn back and creep along the forest floor, searching for a way out. My hand falls on a black boot. I know I shouldn’t look, but I can’t help it.
Lying on a bed of leaves is the blond girl from Everland. Bella. Her blue eyes stare lifelessly at the fiery canopy above. Her copper wings, apparently re-created by one of the Lost Kids, lie beneath her. In the inferno surrounding me, she looks like an angel. A wooden flute sticks out of the pocket of her tunic. I know I don’t have much time. My life is at risk if I stay much longer, but I can’t just leave her like this. I fold Bella’s hands in front of her and close her eyelids.
Although I don’t know her well, the stories of her bravery and strength told by her fellow Lost Kids burn in my mind.
“Fly fast and true, Lost Girl,” I say, wishing I had gotten to know her better.
Just a few meters away a hovercycle leans against one of the few trees not on fire. My breath catches as the instinct to survive kicks in. Bolting to my feet, I rush toward the vehicle, my arm covering my face to protect it from the flames. As I throw a leg over the deer-hide seat, my gaze falls upon a leather flight jacket crumpled on the ground. My father’s name, Hunter, is stitched on one arm with heavy black thread. I rarely see my father without that coat.
Nausea overwhelms me again.
“Pa!” I shout, abandoning the hovercycle.
I find his battered body nearby, twisted and broken beneath singed leaves and twigs. Ash leaves a snowy film on his dark completion. Deep gashes slice his neck and arms. Brick-colored stains coat the fabric of his shirt and pants. A crimson ribbon of blood spills from the corner of his mouth. He pants, his breaths urgent and shallow.
“Pa! I need to get you out of here,” I say, panicked, trying to lift him. I am no match for his dead weight, though. After several attempts, I shout for help, but no one answers back. Again, I work to move him. This time, his familiar, strong hand rests on my arm.
“They’re gone,” he says through ragged breaths. “No one is left.”
His words don’t make sense. How could everyone possibly be gone? “Shh. Pa, don’t worry. You’re fine. Where’s Ma?” I ask frantically.
He coughs, managing only to say, “Dead.”
The gravity of his news hits me like a bolt of lightning. Intuitively, I knew this the moment I laid eyes on the fiery village, but to hear the words spoken makes it all the more real. My friends, my family … my mother. All of them gone. A hollow builds inside of me as I wonder which of these bodies blanketing the forest floor is my mom.
My father coughs some more and blood sputters from his mouth. I wipe his lips with the cuff of my shirt, but it does no good as liquid life continues to ooze from the corners of his lips. I choke back a sob, realizing that even if I could find someone to help, he won’t last an hour. Grief consumes me as I struggle to speak my next words, knowing they’re a lie.
“Shh. Conserve your energy. We’ll get you help. You’ll be okay,” I say, trying to reassure myself as much as him.
Pa’s eyes begin glass over and I shake him, eager to keep him awake. “No! Don’t you dare leave me!”
His pupils focus on my eyes. “Take this,” he says, unfurling his fingers. Lying in his palm is the brass key from around his neck. I recognize the intricate design instantly. The bow is made up of decorative swirls and arches. It’s the work of the royal keymaker. No one else can smelt and create designs like this. It’s the key my father took from the prisoner, Jack. He’s kept it close, never allowing others near it.
“What?” I ask, confused.
Pa tries to speak, but his words only gurgle from deep within him. He wraps my hand over the key and squeezes. “Go to the Emerald Isle. Find Ginger east of the Wicklow Mountains. She’ll help. Save … King … Osbourne.” His final words fade to a whisper as his grip softens and his hand becomes limp.
“Pa?” My voice quivers, but he doesn’t answer. “No, Pa! Don’t go!”
Tears burn my eyes. I throw my head back and scream, the song of my sorrow engulfing the roar of the firestorm around me. As the fire closes in on me, I lace the chain over my neck, choking back sobs. My tears leave their mark on the layer of dust and ash on his face.
“I will save the king,” I say, resting my forehead on his. “For you. For us all.” With one last kiss to his temple, I grab his gun, snatch up my rucksack, and stand. There’s nothing left of my home, no family here. I throw a leg over the hovercycle, clip the toe of my boots in the foot cage, and turn on the vehicle.
I take one last look at my home. Fire consumes every bit of it.
“Do you hear me? Have no doubt, Bloodred Queen. I am coming for you. You will pay for what you’ve done,” I shout. “Your blood will spill when this is over.”
I rev the engine of the hovercycle and the propellers beneath the machine whir. Ash whirls in a cyclone of dust and flames as I rise into the early morning sky and head west.
Firelight flickers off the cold stone walls, casting imp-like shadows. Carrying a torch in one hand and lifting the skirt of my white gown with the other, I step over the threshold into the narrow hallway, following the sounds of prisoners’ protests.
Cell doors slam hard, echoing throughout the dungeon as the handful of detainees are introduced to their new home.
Driven by rage for having been so close to the cure and losing it, I storm toward the prison. Only a few months ago, these kids were the defiant ones, refusing to honor me with the respect my royal blood was due. Now respect is all they can possibly have for me when their lives depend on it.
I reach the end of the passageway, my eyes meeting each Lost Kid’s; they greet me with furious expressions. For now, they are not my worry; they are heavily guarded by the Haploraffen. The mechanical winged beasts are dependable. Certainly more reliable than the queen’s sons. First rule of world domination: Don’t send anyone to do your dirty work. Which is why this war is mine and mine alone. But to win, I’ll need a little help.
At the moment, it’s Jack I seek. As I continue down another corridor and into the next bank of prison cells, I think of my future husband, Jack, and his brother, who remain imprisoned in each of their own cells.
Poor, poor Hook … I mean, Hanz.
I’m not sure which name is worse.
Sweet Hanz, the Bloodred Queen’s only biological son, sits behind thick steel bars, disheveled and gaunt. If gullible had a face, it would be his. Even after doing his mother’s bidding, he still is really nothing but her pawn. And yet he openly questions how he could prove his loyalty to her in the dark, damp shadows of his prison cell here in Lohr. I can’t really say why the Bloodred Queen has incarcerated him. Perhaps it’s because when he was supposed to take over London for the German crown, he left it in ashes. Or maybe it’s because after retrieving the poison apple from the Labyrinth, it, too, was left in ruins. Prison might be the only place he can be without leaving destruction in his wake.
Either way, I don’t care. One less in the way of my crown.
The irony of the circumstances is nothing less than amusing. Once a princess of England, a daughter into the bloodline that the Bloodred Queen intended to annihilate. Now it’s just a matter of time before I take her crown. Here I stand on the very castle grounds of the enemy, unwittingly her closest ally.
The Bloodred Queen sought to take my kingdom; I shall take hers. In due time. Revenge for what she’s done to my country, my family, and my future. Granted, my sister was next to claim the crown, but that was just a small barrier. I’ve dispatched others far more difficult.
As sick as she was the last time I saw her, I can only assume my sister has finally met her demise. It’s sad, I suppose. While she was merely a year older than me, we were never all that close. She was too busy learning the necessities of being a real queen in the event our mother was incapable of ruling. Meanwhile, I was left to lessons about etiquette and how to hold a teacup properly s
o I might be wedded off to a lord. The thought is vile, reigniting the embers of disdain I had for my sister. No longer will I be in the shadow of Little Goody Two-Shoes. She’ll be missed … on occasion.
Water drips from the ceiling of the musty, dark jail. Wind howls between the thick bars of open windows, sending bitter air into the small room. I stop in front of a cell and place the torch in the metal sconce on the wall. Arranging my skirts around me, I sit on the window ledge with my back up against the frame, facing the brothers in their cells. It must be humiliating to be a prisoner in your own home. I almost feel sorry for them.
“Well, well, look what the cat’s dragged in,” Hook says smugly. “No pun intended.”
“Cute,” I reply.
“I have no idea who you are, but trust me, when I get my hands on you, you’re going to regret it,” Jack says, his teeth chattering. “Do you know how many you killed back there?”
“Believe me, I’m well aware,” I say.
“Don’t bother with her. She isn’t worth your breath,” Hook says, carving another tick into the wall of his cell. He’s been here long enough that it is full of slash marks counting the days of his imprisonment.
“I have nothing she wants,” Jack retorts.
“Of course you do. She’s the witch’s little minion. There must be something she needs from you. After everything the queen has put us through in both Everland and the Labyrinth, there’s never enough torture to find out what that is,” Hook growls. “Clearly she enjoys tormenting others as much as my mother does.”
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?” Jack says.
Hook launches from the floor. He grips the bars, the metal fingers of his right hand scratched and rusted. In the torchlight, his face sneers behind his long unkempt hair. His dark clothes are nothing but rags. Frayed threads line the edge of his eye patch.
“You’re no better, little brother,” Hook spits.
“Stepbrother,” Jack snarls.
“Now, now, boys. Can’t we all just get along?” I say as sweetly as I can. Reaching inside my pocket, I pull out an apple and shine it on the pleat of my skirt. Its bright red peel gleams in the torchlight.